


We Were At Bart's Together

by typewrittencurlie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eurus is good, F/F, John Watson has a Real Injury, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-12-31 20:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21151895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewrittencurlie/pseuds/typewrittencurlie
Summary: My new flatmate actually seemed to... Like me? Odd. Well, let's see how the next four years go.ON HIATUS.Sorry, guys, I realized that this was too real of a plot to continue as a fanfic, so I'm turning it into an original fiction that will hopefully be a published work....





	1. First Day

·.·.·Sherlock·.·.·

This was it.

The day I was to start my life as a student at Bart's.

I could only hope the roomate Mrs. Hudson arranged for me wasn't some sort of mass murderer.

Oh well. Someone new for me to deduce at the very least...

At the very best, well, the best I could hope for was a friendly aquaintance. I couldn't even begin to hope for a real friend, as I'd never been the 'friendly' type.

I prefer to be alone. People make me uncomfortable to the extreme, due to the fact that, among many things, most insist on banal and meaningless chatter. If this 'John Watson' subjected me to "So, the weather seems nice," or any of the thousand variations, I might just be driven out of my skull.

As I put my final reference book on one of the shelves bordering the fireplace (a book on geological compositions of greater London- useful in identifying mud stains' origins), I hweard footsteps on the stairs. There was the quiet careful tread of my old nanny, and the slow, almost halting steps of my new flatmate. Hmm... It sounded as if he had a bad limp. Interesting.

I forced myself into social interaction mode. God how I hated it.

The door to my flat opened not a moment too soon, as escorted in the person who would be sharing these rooms with me.

"Sherlock, dear, how are you doing?"

"Fine, as ever, . " I replied, as I turned to the window.

"This is John Watson. He'll be sharing the flat with you."

I had already deducted that, but she loved to tell me things I've already known. "I know." Was all I said.

"Erm... Hello. " John said, not a small bit akwardly.

"You sit down John, rest your leg. I'll make a cuppa for you two."

Good old Mrs Hudson.

She bustled off to the kitchen, and I was left to the mercy of this stranger. Heaven help me, I had to interact.

"So, John, I really must apologize in advance, for I can be... How did they put it? Ah yes, 'a bit much.' I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I might not utter a word to you for a week, it happens to happen when I'm working. Don't be offended, it's just me."

John limped over to the more comfortable of the two armchairs in the living room, and I didn't blame him. He clearly was in -either real or psychoschematic- pain from an improperly healed childhood injury. His sister cared about him, judging by the carefully coordinated outfit. Only a woman would pick out a shirt like that. However; the converse were his own, and by the wear on them they were a favorite.

"What's your sister's name?" I asked, mildly curious. Why was I curious? Erm... Oh, yes, I would be living with him, so I must care. Plausible.

"Harriet, but we call her Harry."

Poor fellow seemed confused.

"Lesbian?" I asked, though it was obvious.

"...Yes. I'm sorry, how did you guess, or did Mrs. Hudson..."

"Neither. I deduced. Your clothes have clearly been picked out for you, as you keep fidgeting with your jeans, and the Hem of your shirt. The style says "sister" not "mother" as only a woman could choose a shirt like that. She's a lesbian, due to the preferred name, and the bracelet you're wearing. Though, you could wear it for yourself..." I shrugged. "Balance of probability says both."

God. I said too much. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

"That. Was. Amazing." Odd. He appeared to mean it.

"That's not what most people say."

"What do they say?"

"Piss off."

Mrs. Hudson brought in the tea tray then, and set it next to John. Though of course she set my cup by my chair, and fluffed the pillow.

"Thanks Mrs.H." John said, adding milk to his tea.

I simply nodded, knowing she would understand. I flipped into my chair, my feet dangling over the arm. I took a sip of my tea, and sighed. English Breakfast, two sugars, exactly how I needed it.

"John." I felt the need to explain myself to him. "I'm not very... Not very good with people. I have a problem reading social cues, and expressing emotion. I'm too smart for my own good."

"It's alright. Your mind just works differently. Everyone has their own problems. "

I fidgeted in my chair, wanting to be moving. I hated sitting still and just talking. But John was... Interesting, to say the least. Maybe my best-case scenario was possible. That I had someone who tolerated me.

Mrs. Hudson walked in then, sensing, as she always did, my restlessness. She handed me a notebook and pen.

Thank God for that woman. I'd be lost without her.

I divided the page into staves, composing a new song. It was one of the very few things that occupied my mind.

*John*

Sherlock Holmes was clearly a genius, though of course unusual.

Currently he was lost to the world as he composed a song on a notepad. I thought to myself that he might have ADHD, the way his feet bobbed up and down, though his face remained calm. He just couldn't sit still.

Mrs Hudson entered the room then, and leaned against my chair. "Be kind to him, John. He's actually sweet, underneath the bluster, and he could use a friend."

"I'll do my best, but I'm wondering, has he ever been diagnosed?"

I wondered if he could hear our quiet tones, but I don't think he could, he never looked up. "Sadly, They didn't believe he needed help. They just pushed him out of the best, without a care as to how he would cope. But you could help him."

"I'll try, but I doubt he'll let me in."

"Thank you dear. That's probably your sister, I'll let her up."

I continued to watch my flatmate, and as he pushed up his sleeves, I saw not just a few scars marring his pale forearms. I was pissed, not at him, but at whomever made him feel like he needed to hurt himself to feel better. I hah a feeling it was his parents, from what our landlady had said, and I resolved to give those bastards a piece of my mind.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" I asked as Harry brought up the first load of my things. She knew that I would have done it if my leg wasn't hurting. "Sherlock?"

"Hm. What? Sorry, I wasn't listening." He looked up, setting the notepad aside, and idly playing with the pen.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright, I saw your scars, and wanted to make sure you weren't hurting yourself."

That seemed to set him off. He got out of the chair, and paced in front of the windows. Sherlock took deep breaths, obviously anxious. "John. Yes I have cut in the past, but I realized that it didn't help. Other people seemed to enjoy hurting me more than I did, so why not just leave it to them?"

At that moment Harry decided to walk in, and pour herself some tea.

"Hello Harry, how's the girlfriend?" He asked, clearly trying to protect himself from us, and the judging he thought we were doing.

"John! Did you tell him?" She asked me, clearly hurt. I knew how uncomfortable she was with strangers knowing her private life.

"Harry, I wouldn't. He figured it out on his own."

"Yes, I deduced it, just like how I deduced that you-"

"Sherlock, that's enough." Mrs Hudson walked in then, alerted by the sounds of Sherlock pacing. "John isn't judging you. He would never. He was worried about you. Believe me, if John was like that, do you think I would let him live with you? I screened everyone who wanted this flat, and John fit the bill. So don't be like that." She sighed, and gave him a look.

"I'm sorry, John, Harry. I lash out when people seem to form opinions of me without actually getting to know me."

"It's okay, " I said, refilling his teacup, and handing him the sugar. "We forgive you."

I shot a loaded glance at my sister, knowing that she would under stand what it meant.

"Yeah. We forgive you. After all, what are friends for?" She joked.

"I-I wouldn't know. I've never had one. But I'll try to be a good one."

That was the most I could ask for.

This was going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter Two

_ **Four weeks later, two days before start of term ** _

*Sherlock*

Harry hadn't stayed long after all of John's things were in the flat. She claimed to have a date with Clara, but I knew she was lying. I let the issue slide, not wanting to cause any more drama than I already had.

Why did I get so damn defensive?

She left us alone after that, not bothering us to visit. I think she thinks I don't like her.

I, strangely, felt myself growing comfortable around John. It was almost... reassuring bieng near him. Odd, but true. I didn't have to pretend to feel certain ways when it was just us. I was allowed to be myself.

"John..." I don't know what I was going to say, as he walked back into the room. It was most likely 'not good'. John had started that when I crossed the boundaries of polite conversation with Harry, though it never came up between us.

I was glad for his help, him teaching me social norms that for the life of me, I couldn't understand.

I watched him settle back into his chair and pick up the book he was reading for the second time since I'd known him. It was, of all the books he could have read, The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He was very odd.

John's eyes crinkled as he faintly smiled at the ridiculous plotlines of the five-book "trilogy".

He was rather handsome, I found myself thinking, his dirty blond hair messily endearing. And his blue eyes...

No. No. I was not **admiring** my flatmate.

I was not **attracted** to my flatmate.

I don't get attracted to people. As a rule. Relationships always complicate life. And make things messy.

John is the closest thing to a friend I've had in my entire life, and I will not mess that up. 

I forced the feelings down, instead, reaching for my violin. "Is it alright if I play, I need to think." I asked him.

"Sure. I'd love to hear something of your's, Sherlock." He said, looking up with a smile.

I complied, playing a piece I had written a few months ago, and had since then perfected.

As the music washed over me, I began to relax, and my mind started to wander. I found myself wondering what it would be like to be in a relationship.

It was something I had never considered before, because I had thought no one even would want to be my friend, let alone lover. But maybe... maybe John-

"No." I told myself, setting down my insrument carefully.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked, caring _**friend**_ that he is.

"I-I. It's nothing. I'll be fine."

"Bullshit. I know when you're upset. Tell me."

"I can't."

"At least talk to Mrs Hudson about it then. It really concerns me when you get like this. Don't shove it away."

"I will. I think now though, I need some sleep."

"Alright."

·.·.·John·.·.·

After the incident with Sherlock, I decided to consult Mrs. Hudson.

She seemed to get on with him really well, and I wondered if she could help me understand him.

I crept out of the flat, careful not to wake him, but before I left, I made sure he was actually sleeping. Actually sleeping, and not sitting alone with whatever thoughts caused that.

He was almost adorable as he slept, his curly black hair in disarray. There was a small smile on his face.

A wave of protectiveness washed over me then, seeing his vulnerability. I knew in that moment I would always defend him, even from himself.

I wondered if it was Aspergers, ADHD, or PTSD, that made him react the way he did to others. Maybe it was a combination of all three.

He needs someone, I thought to myself as I made my way to our landlady's flat on the ground level.

Rubbing my aching leg -I had fallen out of a tree at seven, and it didn't heal properly- I knocked on her door.

"Hello, John, dear. How's Sherlock?" She said, opening the door.

"He's the reason I'm here. I...I'm worried about him."

"Oh God. Come inside." I followed her to her small kitchen. "I'll make you a cuppa, while you tell me what's wrong."

I sat down at her table, my eyes locked on the cracked Formica. "I-I'm not sure. He's so... vulnerable. It's like one gust of wind would break him. He's so special, I want to keep him safe."

"John." She looked at me keenly, as she put the kettle on the burner. "Do you like him?"

"It's a little early fot that, don't you think?" I laughed nervously at her perceptiveness. "I only met him four weeks ago!"

She sighed, "I've found people immediately like (or love) him; or are instantly afraid of, or repelled by, his uniqueness. Unfortunately very few people fall into that first category."

I put my head in my hands, thoughts racing. "I know I find him attractive. Yes, I am bisexual, but." I took a deep breath, "I want to be his friend, I want him not to be hurting inside. I just don't think we'd work out as a couple. I'm smart, studying to be a doctor and all but he's on an entirely different level."

"I know, John. He's a bloody genius, but he needs someone -You- to ground him, keep him on this planet, and in the real world."

"I want that. But if he leaves, if it gets too much for him... what then? He'd be worse off than before."

"Don't think like that. Have faith in him." She set my cup of tea in front of me and took the other chair.

Wrapping my hands around the cup, I asked, "What helps him? I need to know what I can do to make his life better." I took a sip of the lightly sweetened chamomile tea.

"Well, for starters, he doesn't do well in crowds, or loud situations. He gets sensory overload, which gives him anxiety. And he can't handle people toching him. It makes him extremely uncomfortable."

" Do you think he could have Aspergers?"

"He probably does, but whatever you do, don't pressure him into therapy and a diagnosis. He doesn't like it when someone tells him there's something wrong with his mind."

I nodded, understanding perfectly well. "I think knowing why he doesn't work a certain way will help him cope with it. Did you know him when he was a child?"

"Yes. I was his nanny from when he was two months old until he was thirteen. I took care of him, Mycroft, and their sister Eurus, and sheilded them from their abusive parents. But, five years ago I married my husband, God rest his soul, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes let me go. I don't regret marrying Geoffrey, but I regret leaving those children. Eurus was even worse off than Sherlock, with the emotions, and they put the poor girl in an institution. I never was able to find out where she was."

"Were they ever physically abused? I hate to ask you that, fearing the answer, but it might let me in on what triggers he has."

"Yes. They were beat and worse. John... Sherlock should tell you the rest of his history. You need to get him to tell you all of it, and the reality of what those monsters did is worse than he can express."

"How could they do that to him, and his siblings?! I'm never going to leave him Mrs.H. I can't let him go. If he's not interested in the type of relationship I want, if he doesn't want to date me... I'll settle for being his best friend. I'll always protect him."

"I know you will John, I know you will."


	3. Chapter Three

*John*

I carefully climbed the stairs after the long and, though it was helpful, frankly disturbing chat with our landlady. How anyone could find it in their heart to beat someone like Sherlock I had no idea.

I tip-toed into our flat, worried that Sherlock was awake.

Hearing quiet noises coming from his room, I went to make sure he was okay. I crept towards his door, the noise resolving into the sound of someone trying -and failing miserably- not to cry.

My heart broke as I opened his door to see him curled into a ball, his face buried in his pillow to muffle the sobs.

"Sherlock?" I called softly.

He sat bolt upright, his arms wrapped around his hunched-up frame. "I-I-I'm s-sorry John. I had a nightmare. I'll try to be quieter. I didn't mean to disturb you."

He didn't meet my eyes as he bloody APOLOGIZED for crying. If I ever meet his parents, they'll wish they'd never been born. I cautiously approached his bed, hands raised in what I hoped was a non-threatening manner.

"Sherlock." It was like trying to soothe a spooked horse, you had to use the utmost delicacy. "It's alright. I get nightmares too."

He recoiled slightly when I sat on the edge of his bed, as if he expected a beating. God how I hated his parents.

"I'm so sorry, John." He wiped away his tears with shaking hands.

"Does this happen a lot?" I asked, wanting to take him into my arms and put the pieces of him back together. But I knew from he didn't like people touching him.

"Not 'a lot', but often. My dreams are the one thing I can't control."

I wanted to help him so badly. "What helps? I could sit with you, until you fall asleep..."

"T-That's what Mycroft would do. Before he stopped caring."

"I'll sit here. All night if I have to." I moved slowly, placing my back against his headboard.

"John..." He settled down, pulling the blankets over us. Looking at me with wide grey-green eyes, he asked, "Can you just talk to me? Tell me what you like, dislike, anything you can think of?"

"Alright. Well, my favorite color is red -it's bright, and people listen to things written in red. I love to play my guitar; however, I'm not very good..."

*Sherlock*

I lay there, in my bed listening to a man I barely knew tell me all of the unnecessary bits of trivia I never care about. Suprisingly, I did care, because it was John. I relaxed at the gentle tones of his voice, finding every detail important.

Yes, I cared about John in a new way, but I refused to acknowledge what way that was. Refused to open that can of worms.

I knew I was attracted to men of course, finding the male form more pleasing than the female, but this was my first time experiencing feelings like this.

I knew it was possible for Mycroft to have these feelings, he was dating another man. He had a boyfriend, his Goldfish, Graham, Grey, something like that.

I tuned back into John's voice.

"And when I was seven, I fell out of a tree, trying to rescue a kitten. I dislocated my shoulder, and my leg broke. The doctor didn't set it properly, and it's never been the same."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, wanting to take his hand, though I feared he might not want that.

"It's not your fault. It just aches every now and then. Especially when it's cold. But I'm used to it." He gently, I would almost say hesitantly, took my hand in his. "Is this alright?" He asked.

It was more than alright. I... enjoyed it. "Yes."

I didn't want him to know of these... These feelings. I couldn't spoil this. I couldn't ruin this perfect moment.

"Just sleep, Sherlock." He said softly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of my hand. "I'll be here."

"Stay with me? Please?"

"I will."


	4. Chapter Four

*Sherlock*

I woke up the next morning with John still in my bed, our hands still laced together. It was the best I'd felt... well, ever.

I looked at his sleeping face; it was strange how peaceful he looked. I really couldn't bring this crashing down. So I let him sleep, watching his face as he dreamt. John... Slowly the light crept in to our dark little haven as the sun rose. I cursed it, knowing that as soon as it hit my windows, my room would be extremely bright, and John would wake up. We'd go back to the platonic friendship we had before. Before I let myself fall for him.

Suddenly, John mumbled something in his sleep. It almost sounded like my name. His brow furrowed as he gripped my hand tighter. "Sherlock... No don't leave..." His eyes shot open and he be breathed heavily. "Oh... God I was having a nightmare. Guess it was my turn."

"What was it about?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Erm... Rabbits. Zombie rabbits." He was lying and I knew it, but I said nothing.

Could he... No. He couldn't possibly feel the same way about me. But I knew I would never try to get rid of John. I could spend a year with him, and still learn something new about him every day. He was, to say the least, Interesting.

"Youre doing that thing again." John's voice broke into my thoughts. "Where you get distant?"

"Sorry. Do you feel like getting up?"

"If you want to." He replied.

I never wanted to get up. To leave John's side. I liked it, feeling the warmth of his body in bed with me. I fantasized about sleeping in his arms, with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat...

"Sherlock?"

"Sorry. Let's get up."

Reluctantly, I let go of his hand, and tossed the covers off of me. Immediately I missed the warmth of both.

I put on a dressing gown as John cilmbed out of bed. I heard his joints crack as he stretched.

"I was thinking of going on a walk in the park today. The doctors say it would be good for my leg." He hesitated, and I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he asked, "Sherlock, would you join me?"

*John*

"I would like that, John."

My heart beat a little faster as Sherlock graced me with a genuine smile. He was breathtaking when he truly smiled. Not a false grin that he put on, but when he truly smiled, I felt my heart swell, because it was for me.

I wanted to do these walks quite often. Hoping Sherlock would open up about himself, as he sometimes did when he was doing something, like when he was reorganizing his reference books, I found out he was a dog person. Little things came out when he had some sort of outlet for his energy.

He talked to me occasionally as he -much to dear Mrs Hudson's horror- was doing experiments.

A few days after we had become settled into the flat, Sherlock suprised me, as he pulled out a large wooden crate. He proceeded to clutter up our simple wooden table in the kitchen with all sorts of scientific equipment. After he had unpacked the box, he spent an inordinate amount of time conbining chemicals. Which then filled the flat with strong, and not entirely pleasant odors. But I loved watching him work. It was the most focused I had seen him, as he manipulated the delicate instruments with a feather-light touch.

I smiled at him, snapping back to the present. "Thanks Sherlock. It's always good to have company. We'll plan on leaving at about noon, and we can have lunch at that small café... Is that alright?"

He nodded. "As long as you're there."

"I will be." I turned to the door then stopped. "Do you want some coffee? I sure could use some."

"Please." He said absentmindedly, as he straightened up his room, without making it look one iota cleaner. He was probably the messiest person I knew. To his credit he was able to find anything he needed in a matter of seconds. Chaos Theory, he called it. Order in the disorder.

Smiling, I entered the kitchen, and pulled out our coffee maker. Both Sherlock and I were finicky about our coffee, preferring the manual drip-type coffee makers. I checked my watch, 8:17. Plenty of time to take a shower, clean the flat, and see what Greg was up to.

Gregory Lestrade and I had been friends for a long time, and he was the first person outside my family I came out to. His response floored me: 'You're bi? So what? I'm gay.'

We had never dated however, preferring to stay friends.

Apparently he had a new boyfriend who was 'the one.' But I doubted it. Why the hell would you refer to the love of your life as 'your goldfish'?

Greg always had a thing for geniuses. So do I it seems.

I put the kettle on, and waited for it to heat up.

Ten minutes later, as I poured our coffee into two mugs, Sherlock came out of his room.

He was wearing an outfit I didn't even know he owned. It was a soft red flannel, with a thermal shirt underneath, and a pair of... Since when did he wear jeans?!

Fifty percent of the time I have lived with him so far has seen him wearing a slim fitted suit, no tie. The rest of the time he's lounging about in pyjamas and a dressing gown, so forgive for being a little shocked at the normality of his outfit.

He accepted his cup of coffee, putting two spoonfuls of sugar into it. "Thanks, John."

"Sherlock, is this what you like to wear? You look good. More... human, than when you're wearing one of those suits."

I hoped I didn't offend him by commenting, luckily he smiled.

"Yes, I prefer casual clothes, rather than the suits. I've just always worn those, and had people tell me I looked nice. Thought it was the suit. But I'm going to dress more like myself now. Just to try it out." He laughed. "If my parents could see me now."

I could tell it was his parents making him dress like a business professional all the time, and hated them even more.

"John, I'm going down to Mrs Hudson's for a lengthly chat, about what set me off last night, but I'll be back before noon, alright?" He looked at me with apprehension on his face. "I promise I won't be late."

He was asking permission, I realized. "Sherlock, I'm not the boss of you... You're free to do whatever you want, you know that, right?"

"I... Okay." He washed his mug, and went out the door.


	5. Chapter Five

*Sherlock*

I knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door praying she was home. I really needed guidance.

" Mrs. Hudson?" I called.

"Come on in, Sherlock dear. It's unlocked." I heard her sweet voice say. She was the mother we should have had, Myc, Eurus, and I. Instead of the Beasts.

I walked into her flat, hearing the sounds of her classical radio station playing in the kitchen. She must have been cleaning.

As I walked towards the back of the place, I could hear her humming along. I laughed to myself quietly. She was off-key, as always.

"Hello. Just give me a minute, almost done."

The poor old woman was on her knees, scrubbing out her oven. "Let me do that." I said, as I took the scouring pad from her.

"If you insist, then I won't say no."

"Sit down. I needed to talk to you about John."

"Ah. A 'Feelings' talk now is it?"

I heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, as I began to scrub the blackened whatever-it-was off of the inside of her oven. Even though she made excellent tea, my old nanny couldn't cook to save her life. The burnt food on the oven was proof.

I sighed, diving into my problem. "I think I like John. LIKE like. He-he calms me. Last night I had a nightmare. One of those nightmares. And he stayed with me, like Myc used to do, before They got to him. He held my hand, and told me all of the things I normally don't care about. I did care though. And I liked holding his hand."

"Are you interested in having a relationship with him?" As always she was more perceptive than I give her credit.

"Yes, but what if he isn't interested in me? What if he doesn't like me that way?" I took my nervousness out on a paricularly large clump of char.

"Sherlock, it's normal for you to feel like this. I know you find emotions difficult, but you need to know that John is probably feeling the same as you. You could see this, if you opened your eyes to things besides crime. John worries about you. He cares."

How was she so sure? I pulled myself out of the oven to give her a "How the bloody hell do you know that" look.

"You're not the only one who comes to me for advice, no sir." She laughed gently. "Last night, he asked me how to make you feel comfortable. What your triggers were; he was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Sherlock. He LIKES you."

I went back to getting the burnt on bits from her stove. I didn't think was right. He could just want to be my friend, not boyfriend. "I don't know . What if you're wrong? And I've never had an actual human friend before, let alone a boyfriend. What if he decides I'm too much for him to handle? What if he leaves me?"

"He won't. I thoroughly interrogated him before letting him move in. He would never do that to you. I told him a little of your past, last night not the details, mind you. Do you know what he said? He said "How could they do that?" and in the same breath, "I'm never leaving him". It's going to work out between you two, I know it."

I finally got the last crumb from the oven, and I straightened up. "Thanks, nanny. I'll go talk to him."

"Just Sherlock," She said, handing me a washcloth to clean the ash from my face, "follow your heart, not your head when it comes to John. He won't ever hurt you. It might not always seem logical, but he has your best interests at heart. Now go on, you! Go get him!"

*John*

I dialed Greg's nuber on my mobile, as I pu the last of Sherlock's bizarre experiments back in the freshly cleaned fridge.

"Hello?" He answered on the second ring, "John?"

"Greg! Hey, mate, how are you?"

"Alright, how are you and that roomate of yours getting on?"

"We're getting on fine. Listen, I was wondering what you and your boyfriend were doing today. We've got classes tomorrow, but I thought you two might want to do something with us?"

"Depends. Myc's been trying to get me to go on walks with him, but how about we pop over after for dinner?"

"Funnily enough WE were going to go on a walk at noon. I'm trying to get him to open up, and he always talks more when he's doing something. Besides, it'll be good for my leg."

"Has it been bothering you again? It's barely September... Usually you're not doing this 'til at least middle of October."

"Yeah. It's been so cold and rainy, that it's getting worse. My roommate knows, and it's really touching how concerned he is. He's -underneath it all- caring, and a genius, I think he and Mike will get along really well."

"You've got it bad for him, don't you?" Greg said quietly.

"Yeah. I haven't felt this way since Sarah. But I think we will turn out better than me and her." I laughed sadly, "He actually caused a miniature explosion in our kitchen a few days ago, broke the microwave and everything, but I wasn't mad about the damage. I was mad that he could have gotten hurt, and there was nothing I could've done."

"Well it's good that you've found someone, John. I'll see you in a couple hours?"

"Yeah, just keep wandering, and you'll spot us eventually."

"Cheers."

"Bye Greg." I said to the now-dead line. He never lets anyone say goodbye before hanging up. Ugh, what am I going to do with him...

I turned away from th fridge, just in time to catch Sherlock walking in the door. "Hey." I grinned at him, happy he'd meet my sort-of brother soon.

"John... Erm..." He seemed slightly anxious about something. I didn't know what it was, but I wanted to find out. "I was wondering..." I could almost feel the tension he felt.

"Ask me anything, okay? I won't judge. I promise." I closed the impossibly large space between us, and noticed yet again how tall and gangly Sherlock was. But I knew he wasn't a weakling, however thin he looked.

"I was wondering if you might be interested in me..." He took a deep breath, and looked me right in my eyes, "Because I like you. LIKE like."

...WHAT?! I mean... actually liked me, in the way I liked him? Was it how he genuinely felt, or was it how he thought he was expected to feel, I didn't think I put any pressure on him to feel the same way about me, but maybe I had? I didn't mean to of course, but still, I...

"John. This is how I truly feel. I just want you to know that. You're clearly freaking out and I'm sorry. You make me happy."

"Sherlock, I really have it bad for you, but never in a million years did I think you'd feel even a little bit the same. I'm so stunned." I ran a hand through my hair, and looked up at him. "You really like me?"

As his response, he took me in his lean, wiry arms. God, I practically turned into a puddle. Sherlock was holding me of his own accord. I didn't even ask him to, he just did. I returned the embrace, as he rested his head on my shoulder.

"Of course I like you John. You're so perfect."

"Thank you Sherlock. This is so nice, I wanted to hold you last night, when you were crying, but I didn't want to make it worse."

*Sherlock*

John felt the same way about me. He liked me back.

I felt the best I ever had with John's arms aound me and my nose full of the smell of his aftershave. Not even They could ruin this moment, John wouldn't have let them.

A short while later, we were walking down the path in the park, his hand firmly holding onto mine. He had been asking me questions the whole time, all about my likes, and interests.

"What do you want to be? What's your dream job?" he asked as we passed a mother and her children having a picnic.

"I'm already -sort of- doing it. I will be the only consulting detective. There's a Detective Inspector, well actually more than one, who bring the unsolvable cases to me. That's why I do those experiments, to help me in my theories."

"Wow. How many have you cracked?" He looked up at me, and I saw how amazed he was.

"Well, I've only been at it about a year, since my brother met his boyfriend, his dad started the job. I looked over his notes one time, and clearly it was the sister who did it. That was my first case. Since then I've solved about twelve others. The DI's get really rankled when I solve it in less than a day." I laughed.

"You. Are. Incredible. How in the bloody hell did I land you as my boyfriend?"

"You don't mind then, that certain basic things are beyond my comprehension? That I'm broken?"

He wrapped his arm around my waist, leaning his head on my shoulder. "Sherlock," John said, "You're not broken. You're just a little different. But if we get you diagnosed, then maybe there might be some meds to help you cope. I think you have at least ADHD and Aspergers. Which aren't bad... it aslo might be that you have a bit of PTSD, with the nightmares and the defensiveness."

I held him a little closer to me, saying, "Okay. There's a few things I can add to your list: I have slight depression when I'm not occupied mentally, and I've got pretty bad social anxiety. I'll see a psychologist this weekend if you can come with me."

It felt good to have John's support as he said, "I'm going to be with you through this. I'm never leaving you. I'd rather die."

"God John!" I laughed, to hide the tears of gratitude, "Don't be so melodramatic."

"I'm completely serious. No one's taking me away from you."

*John*

"What's your favorite type of movie?" I asked Sherlock, as we stopped and sat on a cozy litte bench. I wanted to get away from the heavy discussions for now. There'd be plenty of time to go over details later.

"I don't know, I've never really watched televison all that much. I've gone to the theatre. I loved Les Miserables. Even though stealing bread isn't-shouldn't- be punishable with jail time."

"Les Mis is one of my favorites. I also loved Moulin Rouge. I've always wanted to love someone like Christian loves Satine."

"I haven't seen that one."

"Well, I have the DVD release back at the flat. You want to watch it sometime?"

"I'd love to."

"Hey, Sherlock, I want you to meet Greg, he and his boyfriend are around here somewhere."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around me, leaning in. "I don't know John. He's your best friend? Will he be okay with my... difficulties?"

"He damn well better be or I'll kick his ass. He's got a genius for a boyfriend, so you two might get along." I sighed, as he snuggled into me.

"Oka-" Suddenly he looked up, and started trembling.

I looked up as well, but it was only Greg and his boyfriend, walking down the path towards us. I tried to tell Sherlock as much, but he cut me off.

"His boyfriend is Mycroft, my traitorous big brother."


	6. Chapter Six

*Shelock*

I felt terror grip my heart as I watched Mycroft and Graham walk down the path towards us. Could John's 'Greg' and he be the same person?

I briefly held John tighter, before letting go of all but his hand. I steeled myself for my big brother's coldness. I just wished he would turn back into Myc, the big brother who would sleep in my bed when I had a nightmare, who would create a pillow fort for me and Euro in my room when we were trapped inside.

But Myc was gone, replaced by cold, cynical Mycroft.

"Hello Mycroft." I said as coldly as I could. "Graham."

"Sherlock, why is it you can remember my dad's name, but not mine, when they're the same?" 'Greg' sighed, and I almost felt sorry for him. I was purposely being difficult.

"Shelock." John murmured, stroking my face. My anger dissolved into hopeless despair. "It's my best friend and your brother. I know you're hurting. Just don't take it out on them."

"Mycroft isn't my brother. Myc is. I don't know 'Mycroft'."

John sighed, pulling me into him, and I let him. I needed his arms around me, to erase the pain. "Greg, I assume from that conversation, that you know Sherlock?"

"Erm... Yeah I'm his brother's Goldfish. His brother's boyfriend."

"And I see you are my brother's Goldfish. Good to see you found someone, Sherl."

"Don't call me that. Only my brother calls me that. Myc died six years ago. Then Eurus left. Where were you? Oh yes. Being 'Mycroft', perfect little son. Royal prat to his baby brother, because it's expected. You don't care so don't pretened."

With every sentence that cracked like a whip, his calm façade crumbled, until it fell, and I saw a glimmer of the brother who cared. The brother I loved. My brother Myc. But I knew no matter how much I said, Myc wasn't coming back. He hadn't in six years, so why now?

"Tell him. Now love. I'm tired of seeing your brother hurting when there's no need anymore. He's not going back. And if YOU go back, I'll leave you."

"I'm never going back, Greg. Don't leave me." I buried my face into John's shoulder as Mycroft sat on the bench, and Greg leaned on the arm. "Sherlock, please, I-I-I'm so sorry. They promised to stop. They wrote a contract, stating if I was perfect, They wouldn't hurt you or Eurus. That They would be better. I couldn't break it, or there would be disastrous consequences." He gently placed his hand on my shoulder. "Do you honestly think it was just you and Euro hurting yourselves? I would have killed myself at eight if you didn't need me. I had started at six and a half. But then a few months later, I could found a reason to hold on, when I held you for the first time. Then They saw you were just the same as me, even that early, and They had little Euro. They hoped for 'a normal one' but she was even worse. Sherl... I stopped acting like Myc to save you two. It killed me, the hurt I saw. But they would lock me away if I broke contract. But We are done playing by Their rules. We're going to find Euro. Our baby sister. I promise, none of us are going to live under Their rule anymore. I promise."

"Myc." I said, turing to him, tears rolling down my face. "You're really my Myc?" He nodded, and I threw my arms around my big brother. God... "I missed you so much... I needed you."

"I can't apologize enough Sherl. I hate Them for what They've done to the three of us. But no more. If They contact you, call Greg's dad," He said holding me tightly. "DI Lestrade knows. He'll come and arrest Them. They won't hurt you ever again." I felt dampness on my shoulder from Myc's tears, and I knew his shirt was soaking. "I love you Sherl."

"I love you too,Myc."

*John*

I stepped away from the two brothers and motioned for Greg to follow. Sitting down on the grass just barely within earshot I asked him, as he sat next to me, "You're the prospective police officer, Greg. Tell me, would it be illegal if I plotted the Holmes parents' bloody, gruesome, incredibly painful deaths, in my head, not on paper, and never acted on it?"

He laughed weakly, clearly exhausted from trying to contain his rage. "Well if it is both you, me and my dad are getting life without parole."

"How could they-" I tried not to vomit as I thought of the horrors the man I loved had experienced in his still relatively short life. I just hoped they hadn't been sexually abused. If they had... My hands shook as if I had Parkinson's. "HOW."

"I've asked myself that everytime my Myc told me even something he considered mild. Believe me, I've had to throw up I was so angry. I can tell you want to right now. Hold on to him John. Never let him go. That's what he needs. He doesn't need someone to debate the possibility of inter-galactic travel with. That's Myc. He needs someone to hold the demons in his soul at bay. He needs someone to hold him as he sleeps, so he doesn't have the nightmares. You've probably experienced at least one. There's been at the bare minimum seven you haven't been a part of, that he hid from you."

"How do I stop their parents? How can I make them pay?" Tears of bitter anger leaked from my eyes as I tried not to explode.

"The best victories we can achieve are getting their sister out of the asylum, and making them stupidly happy. I'm talking so happy that they forget the pain when we're with them, and when they feel it, it's just a ghost of a bad dream. That's our win."

Greg gently gave me a one armed hug. God he was closer to me than any biological brother could ever have been. I truly loved him in the most platonic way possible.

God. My Sherlock. "I love him so much it hurts. How-how do I keep him with me? How do I not bore him with my mediocrity?"

"If Sherlock's like Myc, he loves and needs you more than you do him. He just can't understand yet. He will, after he realizes you're not leaving. Not ever going to find it too much. When he hurts himself again, and you just take him to hospital and lie your ass off so he won't get put in the suicide ward, that's when he'll get it. That's when Myc did. I still love him."

"What evidence have we got on Them? When I get my liscence, I'll examine the medical reports. Try and find irrefutable proof." I plotted to fast track my college years... if I took night classes, and eliminated my free hours next term, then it could be only six years...

"I know what you're thinking John. Don't go down that rabbit hole. Sherlock needs you with him."

"But if..." I muttered. I could help.

"John. No. You'll run yourself into the ground like that. I tried it for one term. That's as long as I could last, pulling all nighters every other night, spending every minute studying my ass off. It'll kill your boyfriend seeing you slowly die. Don't do it to him. To everyone that loves you both."

"I just want to fight for him Greg. I've wanted to stop his pain ever since I saw his scars." My breath hitched as I amost cried, trying desperately to hold myself together. I needed to for Sherlock.

Just then I saw Sherlock look over at me. God, he was coming over, with his brother following.

"Hey." He said softly, as he knelt next to me, pulling me into his arms. "It's okay John. I'm fine."

"Sherlock..." I cried in his arms. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I'm never leaving you. Ever. You're stuck with me for forever."

"John. I love you too. I will never get bored of you. You make me whole." He gently rubbed my back as I clung to him.

"Let's go home. Myc, I'll see you again soon?" Sherlock took charge, pulling me up.

"Of course Sherl. Tomorrow after your classes?"

"Sounds good. Bye Greg, be good to my brother or I'll leak all of my secret deductions on my blog."

"Is that a promise? I want to see what you know." Greg laughed as I pulled myself together with Sherlock still stroking my back. "Take it easy bro. It gets easier." He said, patting my shoulder. "It does."

"Thanks, mate. I'll keep in touch, okay? I need someone who's been in my spot. Someone who knows."

"Stay strong. I'll keep my phone on."

Sherlock pulled me down the path, leading me home. "How do you manage?" I asked him softly, as I wrapped an arm around his waist. "I'd be dead a long time ago if I'g suffered like that."

He stopped walking and pulled me into his arms. The next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine, and he was kissing me senseless.

God he tasted like heaven and coffee.

"John. It's the Asperger's." He said, when he stopped. His eyes were large and his breath came in small gasps. "I can turn my emotions off. Most of the time they ARE off. Except when I think of you. Then I feel. Then I'm happy." He leaned his forehead on mine and laughed a little breathlessly. "Myc was right. I enjoyed kissing you. I expected to be a little overloaded. I wasn't because I focused on just the sensations; I turned my logic off and turned on my heart. It was nice."

"Sherlock. You are so bloody miraculous. Even that's an understatement. I'd need a thesaurus to find a word that is the way I feel about you."

"I know one. True love."

"Yeah. True love. Let's go home and snuggle."

"Alright. Let's go home."


	7. Chapter seven

*Sherlock*

I entered our flat, John right behind, and taking my shoes off, I reclined on our death-trap of a couch.

John smiled at me softly. He walked into the kitchen, and started making us some sandwiches. Dammit, he'd heard my stomach growling. I was hungry, but I'd take snuggling over food.

"John," I started, when he returned. "Maybe you should get therapy too. Not because you have mental problems, but so you can just express your feelings to a professional." I took a bite of my sandwich, PB&J extra jelly.

"I think that's a good idea. I'll go this weekend, the day you're not. I want to be with you for your first time, your intake. Harry had to go in for a long time when we were younger; she had a hard time accepting she was a lesbian. She self destructed when she lost her virginity to a man. She tried to make herself straight, and is still going in a few times a month. Clara -her girlfriend- really helped her out when they started dating. I'm very fond of her. She got Harry to quit drinking."

"I know about that. She played with her scarf when she was stressed. Clara gave it to her -it's not her style but she loves it. I'm sorry for being rude to her. I wish I could apologize in person."

He nodded his understanding, his mouth full of sandwich. We paused our conversation as we finished our meal. John sure knew how to make a PB&J.

"What day do you have off this week?" He asked, pulling me into his arms. "I have on Wednesday only one class in the morning."

"Me too. It's Forensic Chemistry at Nine A.m." I played with a loose thread on his sweater, utterly content in his arms.

"Ive got Internal Medicine. Also at nine. After class, do you want to meet my parents? I know they will adore you."

"You think so?" I snuggled deeper into his arms, trying to get as close to him as I could. I knew that I would never feel this way about anybody else. That I COULD never feel this way about any other person on the planet. There was a name written on my heart and it was 'John Hamish Watson' in Sharpie.

"Sherlock you are impossibly adorable with me. And they will see how much we love each other and will be happy for us."

"Sure John. I'd love to meet your parents on Wednesday. I'll be on my best behavior, so long as they don't ask about my family. I don't think I can tell them about the abuse yet. I want them to know me as a person, before they know my secrets."

"I'll explain the taboo subjects to them in advance. Just what to avoid." He buried his face in my hair, murmuring "I love you."

"I love you too."

·.·.·John·.·.·

My alarm woke me up at 8:00 the next morning. As soon as I was aware, I knew something was wrong. Where the fuck was my boyfriend?

I had asked him if wanted to sleep with me, and he quickly agreed, jumpimg at the chance to sleep in my arms. I was thrilled at the idea of waking him up with a kiss, but he wasn't here. What the hell happened?! I feared he had had a nightmare, and went back to his room to cry. Or They had called, and he was hurting himself in the bathroom. A million scenarios ran through my mind; each more dramatic than the last...

I slowly got out of bed, testing my leg, it held though it hurt considerably.

I grabbed my cane, and limped out to the living room, looking for Shelock. I heard the sound of bacon sizzling and the beautiful, incredible, brilliant, total _moron_ I loved stuck his head out of the kitchen, completely oblivious to my worry.

I gaped at him as he nonchalantly asked, "Hungry?"

"Do you have ANY idea how worried I was?!" I growled as I limped over to him, and pulled him into my arms. "I thought something had happened..."

"I'm sorry. I thought I would make us breakfast. I didn't mean to scare you..."

"God!" I laughed weakly, reassured now that I knew he was alright. "It's fine, Sherlock, I just expected to wake up with you. I looked forward to it."

"Sorry."

"I love you." I said knowing he probably thought I was angry with him. "I was just worried. That's all."

"I love you too. " He pulled away, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "You want toast? There's bacon and eggs, too."

"I think I'm good with just what you've already made."

I sat at the miraculously cleaned table, as he placed our breakfasts down.

I cautiously took a bite fearing the worst. I've never seen him cook. But... "Sherlock this is delicious."

He shrugged, "Cooking is just chemistry. You're creating a chemical reaction when you apply heat, so it's simple."

"Incredible." I muttered, scarfing down the large pile of scramled eggs before moving onto the bacon.

"John..." He grinned at me.

"What's your schedule today?" I asked.

"Basic Forensics 101 at nine, Chem at twelve thirty, and Criminology at four. I'm free from 2:30 till four. What's your day like?"

I gave him an outline of my classes, finishing with, "I've got noon til 3:30 free. Do you want to meet up for coffee?"

"I would love that."

·.·.·Sherlock·.·.·

I nervously entered my first class of the day, Basic Forensics. Taking an empty seat in the middle of the room, I pulled a notebook and pen out of my shoulder bag.

The other students began to file in as it neared nine. I began composing a song for John in the back of my journal, and a girl chose to sit next to me. Much too close.

"Not interested." I said sliding my chair away. I didn't even need to look up to know she was about to hit on me, the attention making me extremely uncomfortable. I had the feeling from the way she moved towards me, calulated to be barely noticeable, that she did this often.

"You haven't even heard what I was going to say." There was a disinct pout in her voice.

I sighed tiredly, putting down my pen; her clothes, makeup and the like screamed 'serial dater', and the way she looked at me told me she wanted me as her next victim. "I know what you were going to say, and I repeat, not interested. I happen to be seeing someone."

She leaned in and said in a voice clearly meant to change my mind (However, it only repelled me more), "What she doesn't know won't hurt her..."

"What HE doesn't know might cerainly certainly hurt HIM." I said as I stood, taking my things to the last open desk.

The others in the room stared at me, probably having a million questions, but too afraid to ask.

The girl sitting in the chair next to mine cleared a space for me. "Thank you." I said.

"I'm sorry about Sarah. She's hung up on her ex, John Watson. Apparently, she turned him gay." She shrugged, "Personally I don't believe it, but she's convinced."

"Is this John slightly shorter than average height, blond, with a limp from a childhood injury? If so, SHE didn't make him gay. He's always been bisexual."

"...You know John?"

"I'm his boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, I'm Molly Hooper." She said quietly as the proffessor walked in. "It's nice to meet you."

"Alright guys, I'm Proffessor Agan, but please call me Sandra. I'm hardly that much older than you lot." She leaned against her desk. "Let's get to know each other a bit before diving in, hm? Who's first?"

A skinny young man stood up, "I'm Kevin Anderson, Fornsics major and genius." Hah. Genius? I doubted it.

One by one the rest of the class intrdouced themselves, giving tiny trivialities of their everyday lives, until it was down to Molly and me.

"Do you want to go?" She asked, about to stand.

"You can go. I don't like people." God I could feel their stares already. "I'm fine."

"Well, I'm Molly Hooper, I'm seventeen, and studying to be a coroner. My parents both work in the hospital."

I steeled myself, prepared for the comments, as I stood. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm eighteen, and am majoring in Chemistry, Forensics, Biology, Criminology and Physics. I'm an actual genius, Anderson, however my boyfriend thinks, and he's most likely correct- that I have Aspergers."

"Thank you, Sherlock." Sandra said, "What's his name? If you don't mind."

"John Watson. He's probably the best person on the planet, and I'm not exaggerating."

·.·.·Sherlock·.·.·

Finally it was 2:30. Time to see John. As I prepared to leave Chemistry class, I was accosted by another student.

"Erm, Sherlock?" he asked. I analyzed him finding nothing special, except that he had a rather large dog, who had jumped on him before he left. "I'm Mike Stamford."

"Hello. What do you want?" I said as I picked up my bag.

"I was wondering if you could help me with this class, it's going right over my head."

I sighed. I knew what John would want. He would encourage me to 'socialize'. "Very well. Stop by 221B Baker street at six. Now if you don't mind I'm about to go meet my boyfriend..."

"Oh! Sure. Of course. I'll see you then."

I managed to get away, and briskly walked to the café where John was supposed to be waiting for me.

There he was, sitting outside at a table, reading a newspaper. I quickly crossed the street as he caught sight of me, wanting to be in his arms badly.

"Sherlock..." He said, as I took him in my arms. All conversation stopped as I kissed him. Mmm... I could taste his latte.

Too soon, he pulled away, breathing heavily. "Well, hello to you too." He laughed, placing a hand on my cheek. "You know it's rather frowned upon to make out like that in a public place."

"Does it look like I care?" I asked, kissing his cheek and sitting at the small metal table. "I like you, and I'm not ashamed to show it."

"You're impossible." John rolled his eyes as he sat back down.

I took a sip of the coffee he had gotten me... Black two sugars, hot but not excessively. He knew me far too well.

"How was your day?" I asked, as I was genuinely curious.

"Ugh! My teachers are _Idiots_! How in the hell are we supposed to jump in to learning the subject if we don't have an overview of the class! Both my Bio AND my Diagnostics teachers did that! So glad I took Intro to Psych. That's what I've got next, and I'll ask the prof to recommend a pschologist for us to see. She should know a few."

"Thanks. John, you are going to be so proud of me. I agreed to tutor this other student in my chem class. He asked."

"I **_am_** proud of you, love."

"Love? Pet names status now? Alright, _**darling**_."

John laughed loudly, his grin strecthing from ear to ear. "I love you Sherlock Holmes. I can't imagine a life without you in it."

"I love you, John Hamish Watson. I am so glad you found me."

His phone let out a soft ping, and John picked it up. "I got a text from Myc. He said he'll be at our flat at about eight. He's got a job interview."

"Perfect. I'll rush through the concepts with Mike, and then we can cuddle."

"Love, You can't get enough of me can you?" His hand was still in my hair, and I caught it when he pulled away.

"No, darling. I can't."

·.·.·John·.·.·

I sat in my next class, worrying about Sherlock. But what was new? He was always on my mind, whether I was anticipating seeing him, or worrying if something had happened.

I snapped out of it when the professor said, "We'll start with diagnosing tools on Thursday. Read chapters one through five in your textbooks, on the different forms of mental illness. There will be a test next week."

As everyone packed up to leave, I approached Dolbe, slightly nervous.

"Erm. Proressor?" I asked.

"Yes John?" she said, looking up from the papers on her desk.

"I was just wondering if you knew any good psychologists, for my boyfriend. We were planning on getting him help. Me too, just so I know how to manage my emotions concerning events in his past."

"Good for you, John. I can reccomend Gregory Hooper, if he would prefer a male doctor, in fact he works over on the clinical floor, but if he would be more comfortable with woman, Alice Jamison is over on Harley street."

"I think we'll see Hooper. Sherlock isn't very comfortable around most women. Thank you ma'am. I really appreciate it."

"You're quite welcome John. My door is always open if you want to talk. I WAS a psychiatrist you know."

"I can tell. Thanks again."

I quickly grabbed my bag and took my time walking off campus. I had stopped at the main doors, just for a moment when I heard a voice say, "John, John Watson!"

I turned around to see Mike from my psych class rapidly approaching. "Hey Mike. What's up?"

He and I walked to the street, and I turned in the direction of mine and Sherlock's café.

"I was curious about your boyfriend, he's supposed to tutor me in Chem this evening, but I don't want to say the wrong thing. I was nervous about that, before I asked him, but I thought, 'well, I'll stick to the subject.' So what exactly should I definitely not mention?"

Hmmm. I think Sherlock's made a friend. I smiled at the thought of how he would deny it. But some people actually like my boyfriend, not just me.

"Mike. Just don't bring up families, or chit chat aimlessly. Families trigger his PTSD, and trivialities just irritate him. He told me once that he'd probably lose it if I ever started talking about the weather." I laughed nostalgically. God he was special.

"Alright. Are you meeting him here? We could carpool if you are going to his flat..."

"It's our flat. But I was meeting up with my friend Greg."

"Oh. Well I will probably see you later, yeah?"

"See you later Mike." I said as I sat down. Greg arrived a few moments later and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I really needed his help.


	8. Chapter Eight

*Sherlock*

My palms were sweating. I couldn't believe I was about to meet John's parents. My hands shook as he knocked on the door to the large house in Worcestershire. It was rather nice, the house, with ivy crawling over the stonework, and faded blue shutters.

For the past three days, I had tensed up every time he mentioned his parents.

Now I was in front of their house, and I had the nerve to be in love with their son. I so terribly wanted them to like me,

"John, I don't know about this..." I whispered as the echoing footsteps that I could hear from inside neared the door. "Maybe we should go home..."

"It's my mum and dad, love. They won't hurt you. I promise."

He took my hand in his as the door opened.

Mrs. Watson stood in the doorway, a broad smile on her face. "John!" She pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned without letting go of my hand.

I analyzed her quickly, as she stepped back. Natural blonde, no plastic surgery. She must not be concerned with the way other people thought of her. Slight, though not a serious fitness buff. Marriage in good health, judging by the state of her wedding bands that were over 20 years old. And then there was her-

"Mum, this is Sherlock. My boyfriend." Damnit. John put me on the spot, and I snapped out of my analysis-mode.

"Hello, Mrs. Watson." I said, holding my hand out for her to shake.

"Oh, you. Don't bother with the 'Mrs. Watson' nonsense. Call me Mum, or Joan." She smiled kindly, and motioned us inside. "Erm, alright Mum." I was surprised, and slightly relieved she accepted me so quickly.

"It's surprisingly chilly for September, isn't it, boys?" She asked, as we took off our coats and shoes.

"Yeah, my leg keeps bothering me, because of it." John said.

I noticed a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. "What are you cooking, Mrs. Wat- Mum?" I asked, "It smells great." My stomach grumbled loudly, I hadn't eaten breakfast, being overly anxious about this.

"Pizza. I was hoping you two would help, I have the sauce done, and was about to start on the dough."

"We'd love to. Sherlock's a fantastic cook."

"It's just simple chemistry." I muttered, following them through the large, comfortably furnished living room to the kitchen.

"But you have to put love into what you create, or it will be simply food." She smiled as we sat at the breakfast bar in the spacious kitchen.

I puzzled over that statement. How could you put _love_ into a dish? And what did she mean by "simply food"?! That's all it is! Just nourishment.

"...I don't understand."

"You've , lost him, Mum." John gently ran a hand through my hair, soothing my confusion. "Sherlock, all she means is the extra care and attention you give to a dish. You understand more than you realize. I could taste the extra effort you put into our breakfasts, back home. You pay attention to the time, and amount of seasoning you put in. That's putting love into a dish."

Oh. It was so simple, the way John explained. I'd never really thought about it like that before. "Okay. I get it. I guess I do put 'love' in the food. Especially when I cook for you." I smiled at him softly. "Thanks."

"You two are so cute together." John's mum said, laughing. "It's adorable."

"Let's get cooking." John said, sliding off his stool. "I'm hungry."

I began to wash my hands as he got us aprons, and Mum went to get the ingredients.

"Here you go, love." John said, when he returned.

I put on the apron without looking at it, tying it behind my back. Suddenly John grabbed my neck, and pulled me into a kiss. I wrapped my arms around him, surprised, but never objecting to a quick make-out session. His tounge traced my lower lip, as my hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans.

"John, please stop making out with your boyfriend." His dad said loudly as he walked into the room, startling me.

Mr. Watson seemed unfazed, judging by the way he sat at the table, and picked up the newspaper. Apparently this happened a lot, going by how calm he was.

"But Dad, he's wearing the apron! It's a rule!"

John laughed as I stepped back and carefully examined the apron he'd given me. Large looping pink letters spelled out "Kiss the Cook" on the front, with a lipstick print on the upper corner.

"John, really?!" I glared at him as he sniggered.

"Are you mad? I'm sorry, I just thought it would be fun. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Darling. You knew I wanted to make a good first impression." I took him in my arms, kissing his temple.

"Don't worry about it, son. John's very much an exhibitionist, Sherlock. I'm surprised you seemed as eager, though."

I blushed, and laughed nervously. "Well, I'm always up for a quick make-out session with John. He's told me it's rather frowned upon to just grab his face and kiss him in public. But I'm not ashamed to show how much I love him."

"Good, he needs someone like that." John's dad opened the newspaper, and took a sip of his coffee.

I grinned at John. Both of his parents approve. It was better than I hoped for.

Mum walked back into the room then, arms full of baking goods.

"Are you two ready to get started?"


	9. Chapter Nine

_ ***John*** _

I loved watching Sherlock cook.

Well, I loved Sherlock, period, but still.

He animatedly chatted with my mum, while we worked on making the pizza dough. With flour on his face, and a silly grin, he seemed so happy.

I snuck up behind him, as he washed the flour off of his hands, and caught him in my arms. "Gotcha." I pressed my lips to his neck.

"Hey," he laughed, as he tried to escape. "Come on John, let's go relax."

I let him go, and followed him to the living room. We settled into the couch, as my parents sat in the armchairs across from us. Oh, God, I could tell from their expressions that they intended to interrogate us.

"So, Sherlock, what are you majoring in?" Dad started off the first round.

"Well, my scores were so excellent, they let me have as many majors as I wanted. I chose Criminology, Chemistry, Forensics, Physics, and Biology, with a minor in Anatomy."

"Wow, Sherlock. John told us you were brilliant, but that's amazing." Mum smiled at him, and asked, "what do you intend to do with them?"

"Well, I am working as a consultant for the Yard, unofficially. I am going to be the only consulting detective in the world. Having more knowledge in those areas would help me solve the cases for Scotland Yard faster."

"Have you thought about opening your services to the public? You could charge a fee, and make a lot of money." Dad suggested. "It would be a great career."

"That's actually a great idea." I said, as I pulled Sherlock into my arms, snuggling him. "Love, it's the perfect job for you."

"Of course it is. I have thought about it before, but I worry about meeting new people all the time. You know how I am with strangers." He sighed, twining our hands together. "I wish you could be there for it. Then it wouldn't be too much for me. You understand me so well, and you can translate."

I played with his hair idly, loving how soft it was. "I'll be there most of the time. I still have eight years to go until I get my degree. You could already be a detective."

"Hmm..." He sighed, closing his eyes, and leaning into my touch. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

_ ***John*** _

We watched _Murder on the Orient Express_ after the interview, while we waited for the dough to rise, and my dear boyfriend had it figured out in probably ten minutes.

He was incredible.

"Alright, dear, you knead the dough for a second, while I prep the workspace." Mum told Sherlock, as we prepared to finish making the pizza. He scrubbed his hands, then covered them in flour.

I scrubbed up as well, and once everything was set, I rolled out the crusts, as Sherlock handed me hunks of dough.

"Hey... You started without us?"

Harry had walked into the kitchen while we were working, unnoticed. She and Clara sat at the breakfast bar, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock freeze.

"Harry, Sherlock is terribly sorry for how he acted before. Can you forgive him?" I gently took his hand in mine.

"I really am sorry, Harry. I have a hard time interacting with others. John is the only person I'm fully comfortable around. I love him, and would very much like you to approve of our relationship." Sherlock glanced up at her, and I could tell he was incredibly nervous.

"Sherlock, I forgive you. I can tell that you're special to John, and I want my brother to be happy. And I'm sorry for not understanding like John apparently does."

"It's ok. Nobody understands me the way he does. Friends?" Sherlock hesitantly smiled.

"Friends." Harry smiled back, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so glad my family approved of Sherlock.

The meal only took about an hour to make, with everyone helping, andnd by one-thirty, we sat down to a late lunch.

"So, what was everyone's favorite part of today?" My dad asked, trying to start a meaningful conversation.

"Easy. My favorite part of today was meeting Sherlock. It's really nice to know you, dear, and you make John so happy..." Mum went first, and going around the table clockwise, I was next.

"I loved that everyone approves of my boyfriend. And the pizza is delicious." I said, taking a large bite.

"I liked seeing what a healthy family dynamic is. I didn't have it growing up." Sherlock picked up his pizza, and I could tell he said more than he intended.

"Sherlock, what was your family like? Or were you an orphan?" Clara asked, despite the look I gave her.

Sherlock put his slice down, and took my hand in his. "It's alright, love. They need to know." He looked up at everyone, and said, "My family is not like this one. My parents wanted 'normal' children, but instead, all three of us have either Asperger's, or in the case of my sister, high-functioning autism. They were unspeakably cruel to us, because we are different. We all have self harmed, and if I hadn't been born when I was, my big brother wouldn't be here today. And They locked Euro away three years ago, when she tried, and almost succeeded in killing herself. That was my family dynamic." He said all of that in a calm manner, as if it was normal for a parent to do those things.

"Sherlock..." I took him in my arms. "I'm sorry."

"How could They do that to you?" My mum whispered, her hand over her mouth. "No sane person could treat a child like you so badly that..." Mum stood up from the table, and walked around me. She took Sherlock's hand in hers, and said, "Sherlock, they are monsters. I want you to know that we would never hurt you like that. If you weren't already an adult, we would adopt you. I want to be the mum you never had. Can I?

"Of course. I would love to be a part of this family." Sherlock smiled hesitantly, and glanced at Dad. "You're all so kind, and I would like nothing more than to be your son, if you'd have me."

"Of course we would, Sherlock." Dad said, "I knew from the moment I met you, that you were my second son, because of how much you love John. And now, if I ever meet those... _Things,_ I'll make sure they never hurt you again."

"Thanks, Dad."

_ ***Sherlock*** _

We left Mum and Dad's at about six in the evening, just barely catching the train back to London. John and I sat together, wrapped in each other's arms, ignoring the looks we were getting from the other passengers. I didn't care what they thought of us, instead I snuggled deeper into John's arms

I listened to his heartbeat, feeling by the minute, more in love with him. I couldn't even begin to express how much I needed him.

I leaned up, and kissed his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." He replied, his hand leaving my waist, and caressing my cheek. "I will always love you. Forever."

I closed my eyes, and held him close as we neared home.

Finally, we made it back to Baker Street, and I collapsed in my chair, having taken my shoes and coat off at the door.

"Nope, we are going to bed. I know you're exhausted, and so am I."

I stumbled out of the chair and to our room, not bothering to get into pyjamas, instead choosing to sleep in my t-shirt and boxers. John crawled into bed next to me, and I used his chest as my pillow.

He wrapped his arms around me, and murmured, "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, darling."


	10. Chapter Ten

_ **Friday** _

_ ***Sherlock*** _

"Sherlock, it's alright. We know what they're going to say."

I paced the nearly empty waiting room of the psych wing of Bart's. We hadn't gone home after our short day of classes, instead, making the journey here to get me tested. I had been through several hours of I.Q. tests, E.Q. tests, and therapy. The man had been kind, and John was there for that, but this waiting game was getting to me.

"But..." I sat next to him in the hard plastic chair. "What if, what if it's something else? What if it's not Asperger's? What if we were wrong?"

John leaned over and took my hand in one of his while the other reached up and caressed my face tenderly. I swayed towards him, leaning into his touch, and closed my eyes.

"Sherlock, even if it's something else, I won't leave you. I know that's what you're worried about. But I'm never going to do that. I'm in love with you exactly as you are, and a different diagnosis won't change anything."

A tear escaped my eye, and John's thumb gently stroked it away. "I love you." I whispered.

"I love you too, Sherlock. Never forget that, because it's never going to change."

A few moments later, the receptionist called, "Sherlock Holmes? Doctor Hooper is ready for you."

"Come with me?" I asked.

"You know that I will. I promised I'd be there through this, and I don't break my promises." He gently pulled me up. "Come on."

Hand in hand we followed the woman to Dr. Hooper's office. The middle-aged psychiatrist sat behind his large desk, a thick file in front of him, with my name on it.

"Sherlock, John. Take a seat."

We chose the small loveseat, slightly to one side of his desk, and John wrapped an arm around my shoulders, while I stared at the file. It was bigger than I had expected. Hooper opened it, and looked up at me , clasping his hands on top of his desk.

"It might be a comfort, but then again maybe not, for you to know we have a diagnosis for you. I reviewed your test scores, and they are typical of someone who is on the autism spectrum. Sherlock, you do indeed have Asperger's. Your I.Q. is 172, while your E.Q. is twenty points lower than the average person."

"Wha- what else? That can't be it." I asked, as John's thumb rubbed back and forth on my shoulder comfortingly.

"Well, we have added, after talking to your therapist, ADHD, he noticed your decreased attention span, and your fidgeting, especially when John stepped out of the room for a brief moment. Your nightmares that you discussed with him, along with the triggers you have led me to add PTSD to your list."

"This is nothing new..." I muttered. "I assume you also have mild depression, and social anxiety disorder on there?"

"Indeed we do. I feel that the social anxiety stems from your Asperger's, you simply cannot handle computing all of the expectations others have on you, when you are in a large crowd." The doctor sighed, and briefly removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "We have a personalized treatment plan for you, involving together, medication, counseling, and speech therapy, to help you learn how to communicate effectively."

"What kind of medicine, doctor? My boyfriend doesn't want his brain to function differently, and frankly, neither do I. I love how he makes rapid deductions, and I don't want him to lose that gift." John held me tighter, looking into my eyes.

"Thank you, John." I smiled at him softly.

"I have on here an antidepressant, a stimulant for the ADHD, and an as-needed anti anxiety medication. The first two, Celexa, and Vyvanse, should be taken in the morning, but the other, Xanax, should only be taken during moments of stress. Such as when you must interact with a large crowd, Sherlock. It's not a medicine to take everyday."

"Alright. I understand."

"I would recommend seeing your counselor at least once a week, same with the speech therapist. You can arrange appointments for them with the receptionist as you leave. And I would like to see you, Sherlock, in three weeks, so you can tell me of your progress. Do either of you have any questions for me?"

"It's completely unrelated, but do you have a daughter? I have a Molly Hooper in my Forensics class. She's very kind to me."

"That's my Mol. She's got a heart of gold."

"I like her. She defended me on the first day from John's ex, Sarah. And she tried to help the other students understand me."

"She's always been a kind person. Here are your prescriptions, Sherlock, and I will see you both in three weeks."

"We will." I took the packet of papers. "Thank you Doctor." I said as I shook his hand.

"Yes, thank you very much."

"You're welcome, boys."

We exited the room, and John murmured, "See, love? You had nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be fine."

"Thank you so much, John. I always thought that it would be so much worse than what it was." I sniffled, as he put his arm around my waist. "It wasn't so bad, and I feel better, knowing that we have a plan. And that I'm not alone with this."

"Sherlock, you're never going to be alone, so long as I'm alive. I'll always be there for you, to help you to love you, to let you know **_exactly_** how amazing you are. Because I love you."

"And I'll always be here to keep your life interesting. Because I love you too."

"Promise? Because life was pretty boring before I met you."

"John." I laughed, as we stood in front of the receptionist's office.

"Hello, we need to make a few appointments?" John said to the woman.

"Name?" She glanced up from her computer.

"Well, one for me, John Watson, and then we need to schedule a few for Sherlock."

"Alrighty then, let's start with Sherlock's. Dr. Hooper wants to see him in three weeks, and then weekly visits with the counselor, and speech therapist, according to his chart."

I nodded. "Do you have anything open for Wednesdays, with Alaric? And then the speech therapist on Friday or Saturday?"

"Alaric has 3:00 open on Wednesday, and Mrs. Jensen has either Friday at noon or Saturday at eleven." The woman smiled. "I think you're going to take the Saturday one?"

"Yes, I don't get out of class until one on Fridays."

"Perfect. I'll set those up for you, and do you want the same time in three weeks, for your follow-up?"

I looked at John, "Are you okay with that, love?"

"Of course."

"Great that's all set. Now, John, what do you need?"

"I was hoping to see a counselor tomorrow or Sunday, just so I can talk about my own issues. I don't need it to be anyone specific."

"Alright, well, Ms. Thompson has a five o'clock on Saturday, if you want me to put you down for it."

"That would be lovely."

"Alright, here are some reminders," she said, hastily scribbling on a few business cards for us, "and I'll see you then. Have a good evening!"

"Let's get your meds filled downstairs, then we can go home. I'm rather tired." John yawned to prove his point, then grinned at me. "We can cuddle on the couch, while we watch Moulin Rouge..."

"I'd love to."


	11. Chapter Eleven

_ **Monday** _

_ ***John*** _

It has been three days since Sherlock had started his medications. So far, it's been good. He can sit and relax now, without getting restless, and he's less... I don't know, less _moody,_ more happy. Even Mrs Hudson has noticed. He smiles more. Before, it was maybe once a week that I saw one. Even then I'd have to be doing something unbelievably adorable for him to give me that beautiful grin.

He's even making jokes.

Sort of.

But now comes the real test. We both have classes today, only getting a brief two hours to see each other at two thirty.

I worried that he would get overwhelmed, or just miss me, and freak out. It was completely irrational, I know; he'd been fine last Monday, without meds. I have a feeling that I'll always be worrying about him. I just have a hard time relaxing, when I know how badly people can affect him.

I tried to breathe, as I put on my jumper, and zipped up my jacket. Things are going to be fine. He's been so much more stable on the meds. I kept up the mantra _he's__ doing great, don't freak out, nothing can go wrong, _as Sherlock walked towards me.

"John, are you alright?" He asked, as he grabbed his coat. "You seem... Nervous. Why?"

I took a deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth.

It was something my therapist, Elaine, had taught me, for when I need to calm down.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm just worried about you, I mean, worried about you not having me around today. I don't want you to be alone. We don't know how these meds are going to work on you, and..."

"John, it's so cute that you're worried about me, but I'm fine. I feel more.. I don't know what 'normal' is, but I feel sort of like that. I'm going to be fine. I love you, darling, but please, have faith in me. I can do this." He took me in his arms and gave me a quick kiss.

"I love you too." I took another deep breath. "I'm fine. Really."

"Well, let's get to class, then."

* * *

** _*Sherlock*_ **

I walked down the sidewalk holding John's hand, and wondered if I should tell him what Myc said. I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but it was bothering me a bit.

I decided to tell him.

"John, you'll always protect me, right? From Them?"

"Sherlock, you know I will. Always. Why? Should I be worried?"

He gripped my hand tighter, and walked a little closer.

"You probably don't _need _to be, but Myc called me the other day, and said They tried to get in touch with him. That They want to see me. I don't think that they will, but just in case, it's a good idea to have Greg's dad's number ready."

"Alright, thanks for the warning, love." We stepped through the doors, and into the main hall. "I'll see you at two-thirty, okay?" He looked up at me, smiling.

"Okay." I leaned down and quickly kissed him, before he could object. "I love you." I said, as I pulled away. "Same place as before?

"Erm. Yeah. Yeah okay." He was flustered, from me kissing him in a slightly crowded hallway.

I almost laughed .

"Have a good day, darling." I kissed him again, and left him staring after me.

I wondered how he'd be the first time we have sex.

I entered Forensics ten minutes before the bell, and took my seat next to Molly.

"You seem happy, Sherlock." She commented, with a small smile. "How's John?"

"He's currently standing in the main hall, completely stunned by my kissing expertise..." I laughed quietly. "No, um he's great. We're both doing great."

"You seem... Different, somehow... I can't quite put my finger on it, but something is up."

"John and I saw your dad on Friday, Molly. I have an official diagnosis, and I'm on some meds. I feel... Better. Less... Agitated. Calmer."

"I'm glad you didn't have to go by yourself. John's a good guy. What was your diagnosis, if you don't mind." She tucked a piece of her auburn hair behind her ear, and waited.

Molly Hooper was trustworthy, I thought to myself. I can tell her.

"It's not just one thing, it's Asperger's, depression, S.A.D., ADHD and PTSD. I'm a little bit messed up." I tried to laugh it off, but she saw through me.

"If that was what John said..." She looked angry, and at the same time sad. "You're not messed up, Sherlock. Don't let anyone tell you that."

"I it's what I said myself, Molly. John says he loves me no matter what, and I'm perfect the way I am." I sighed, what on Earth did I do to get his love?

"He'd better. Because if he ever tells you there's something wrong with having those conditions, dump his ass. You are an amazing person, Sherlock. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

* * *

_ ***John*** _

I sat in my diagnostics class, listening to the professor tell us about different types of blood tests, and how to read the reports.

It made a bit more sense, what she was saying, unlike last time, when I was drowning in information. Luckily this was the last class I had before my free hours.

The Prof then split us up into teams, and had us try to determine the disease based on the printouts she gave us.

"Okay... Let's get started.." I said to my group, which was just me, Mike Stamford, and Jessica Gales.

"So this one, it seems to me like the RBC count is very low, and so is the iron." Jessica looked over it, a puzzled expression on her face. "Could it be hemophilia?"

"What's the platelet count?" I asked, as she handed it to Mike. "God, it's very low. What else could it be? Hemophilia seems logical, but what about a medication's side effects? I know NSAIDS can thin the blood..."

"They aren't on the list. The only thing on it is an antidepressant..."

"It's depression. That's the disease." I said, counting my breaths. I desperately tried no to think of this as a copy of Sherlock's tests.

"How so?" Jessica asked, "As far as I know, depression doesn't drastically lower your blood cells."

"John's thinking of someone who self mutilates. God, you're thinking of your boyfriend, aren't you? I mean, all of his scars and stuff... I'm sorry, John. I know how much you love Sherlock."

"I'm fine. I am... Totally fine. He doesn't do that anymore, not in the entire time I've been with him, but yeah. The disease is depression."

"Has anyone figured it out yet? This is kind of a curve ball." Professor Martin called. " You have ten more minutes."

"We did." I raised my hand.

Our teacher walked over, and leaned on an empty desk. "Well, doctors? What's your diagnosis?"

"Depression with suicidal tendencies, and self mutilation." I answered. "It was a dead give away, when you look at the list of meds this patient is on."

"Wow. That is correct. I intended for this to puzzle everyone into thinking hemophilia, but you three saw through it. Good work."

"Thank you ma'am." I said stiffly, still trying not to see this piece of paper as Sherlock.

"John, are you alright? Do you have someone close to you who..."

"Yes. My boyfriend. He doesn't anymore, but every time I see his scars, my heart breaks. And then I want to murder his parents for being the reason he did that."

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking. This was a sheet I'd completely fabricated, John. This wasn't someone's actual tests."

"I know. I'm going to be alright. I just wish he was here, so I could make sure he's okay."

"Text him. I know I have the 'no phones' policy, but I can tell you're extremely upset. And you all get extra credit for actually figuring the correct diagnosis."

I pulled out my phone as she went back to her desk. "Five minutes, everyone!"

I quickly sent Sherlock a text.

_Hey. I miss you._

He immediately responded:

_Miss you too. I love you._

I laughed weakly. He was fine. God.

"How is he?" Mike asked, as I sent back a sweet reply.

"He's fine. Told me he loves me."

"Well, that's good." Jessica said. "When do you get to see him next?"

"Two thirty. We're going to meet up at a café near here for coffee. I just really want him in my arms right now, but I know I have to wait. You know, he's been better about us not being able to be together 24/7 than I have. I just constantly worry about him, when he's not here. It's not very healthy."

"You love him. You know what happens when he's got to deal with things on his own, and you don't want him to be in any sort of pain. God, I wish my girlfriend cared about me that much. I think she just uses me for sex." Mike laughed.

"Yeah, I fell hard for Sherlock Holmes."


	12. Chapter 12

*John*

I got home to find a middle-aged couple sitting on mine and Sherlock's couch. The woman was small with shoulser length black hair and blue eyes. The man was stout, with curling red hair, and Sherlock's peculiar shade of grey eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.

Damn.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in my flat?" I demanded, crossing my arms across my chest.

"I would like to know what **YOU** are doing in _our son's_ flat." Sherlock's father said, his eyes, which on Sherlock were so expressive, seemed cold and dead.

"I live here, if it wasn't clear. Now leave."

"We are _going_ to see our son, Sherlock Holmes. We are _not_ leaving until we do." Mr. Holmes stood, and started to approach me. "What are you doing, living with my son? Are you _dating_ him?"

"That's none of your business. Leave. Now." I opened the door, and pulled out my phone, dialing DI Lestrade's number.

"We just need to make sure that Sherlock is alright." Mrs. Holmes said, eyes deceptively kind. "He's our baby boy, and we love him... Can't you see that?"

"No, I can't. This is your last warning. Leave, now." My voice was cold and unyielding, as I glared at the two people who had caused Sherlock more pain than anyone else in the world.

I heard the door open downstairs, and prayed to God it wasn't Sherlock, even though I could tell by the way the person was taking the stairs two at a time, it was. "John, I have some news for you, apparently..." As my boyfriend reached the top of the stairs, he froze. "Wh-what are They doing here?" He asked me in a low voice.

"They're leaving. I won't let them hurt you, I promise." I stepped in front of him protectively, and kept glaring at the Holmes parents.

"Oh, oh dear, you _believe _him." Mrs. Holmes gently laughed, though not without a touch of nervousness. "Dearie, Sherlock is, sad to say, a bit... Well, he's not entirely there, most of the time. He... Imagined that we were abusive. It's all make-believe. None of it ever happened."

Sherlock's hands fisted into the back of my shirt, and he put his head on my shoulder. I could feel him trembling in fear.

"Oh, really, Mummy? If you never hurt us then why did Euro try to kill herself? Maybe she just couldn't take how grand it was? Why did you never notice how all of your children punished themselves, because that was the only way they knew how to manage the emotions none of us fully understand?" Sherlock held me tighter, as he looked over my shoulder at the figures from his nightmares.

I hit the button, fed up with their lies. I knew Sherlock. I knew that, yes, he had some problems, but he would never have hurt himself for no reason. Those scars were caused by abuse and neglect. I just prayed he wouldn't make more, after this.

"I'm... No. I'm not sorry. I know you're lying. Sherlock has been having nightmares about the things you did to him." I pressed the call button on my phone, and thank God DI Lestrade answered on the first ring. "Sir, They're here," I said, not bothering with a hello, or any preamble.

"_Dammit. _Hold on John, I'll get some backup, and be there in two minutes. _**Knew**_ this would happen. As soon as Greg said that they were trying to get in touch."

"Just, please hurry." I asked, as I heard a door slam, over the line.

"I will."

I shut my phone, as the line went dead.

"Last chance..." I muttered, "You can still leave if you're quick."

"Oh, really, what do you think is going to happen? That we'll get arrested? Who would believe _him. He's mental._"

I heard police sirens coming down the street, and saw a flicker of fear in Their eyes as they heard them too. DI Lestrade bounded up the stairs, as well as two sergeants. The officers already had their handcuffs out, as Greg asked, "Mr. & Mrs. Holmes, were you invited into this flat?" His voice was murderously calm.

"We wanted to, you know, surprise our boy, that's not illegal, surely." Mrs Holmes' laugh sounded completely false.

"And once asked to leave, did you refuse?"

"Listen, you pompous son of a bitch, you have no right to..." Mr Holmes took several steps towards my friend's dad, his fists clenched tightly. "This _boy _cannot ban us from seeing our son. I swear to God..."

Lestrade grinned, and I knew that he wasn't going to be able to hold off. "I've wanted to do this for years... Gents, arrest these two for trespassing, and threatening a police officer with bodily harm."

I held Sherlock tightly, as his parents were led away. "It's alright, love. They won't hurt you. I promise, I'm going to be here. Always."

"I know you will, John. I just don't understand why they are so..." He mumbled into my shoulder. His arms held me close as he could, as if I was a life preserver and he was in the middle of the ocean.

"They're evil. That's why. It's not anything else. Nothing you, or Myc, or Euro did made them do that. There is nothing you can do about them, except rescue your sister, and take them to court. Which is what we're doing." I rubbed his back, and tried to remain his anchor. I knew now more than ever, he needed me.

I couldn't let him down.


End file.
